Porcelain Notes
by Tupper
Summary: Draco discovers a beautiful piano in one of Hogwart's many secret rooms, and his following private reverie is seen and pondered by a small red-headed girl...now complete. DG. Pre-OotP.
1. Chapter One

I decided to do this since I haven't posted for a while. It's only a one-shot, since I'm planning to finish the last two (maybe three) chapters of "Look Back in Anger", add another chap. To my Not-Quite-Celebrity Bloopers, and write a few for an HP fic (one's finished so far, but I won't post until I have at least three or four chapters typed). So here's something to wet your appetite for the next few days.

                                                                                                                                _Porcelain Notes_

Draco's hands were shoved in his pockets, trying to look like he was used to Pansy Parkinson dragging him around, her bony hands in a death-grip lock on his arm. It was nearing St. Valentine's Day, and although the castle never celebrated the holiday, there were always the hugs and private exchanges between classes. Pansy had dropped not-very-subtle hints for the past two weeks on what she would want most for that day, and who she wanted it from—she was constantly pointing out little things, like a girl's lipstick color, and how it made her lips look thin instead of luscious and full, and how those lips were always the best to kiss…

Draco would purse his lips whenever she did that, and would come up with some witty remark in his low, melodious (and to the girls, infinitely sexy) voice that no right shade of lipstick could help Eloise Midgen. Pansy would giggle at once and laugh, laugh in her high, irritating nasal laugh—that horribly clashed with Draco's velvety one—but be slightly disappointed that he hadn't appeared to have gotten the point.

Right now, however, several members of their clique were around, and all the girls were wearing agreeable lipstick colors. Pansy would have to wait to make another meaningful comment but satisfied herself right now with clamping her ice-cold hands in a vise around his wrist. The group was walking along the corridor to have lunch in the Great Hall. It was a pretty spring Sunday, and the blossoms were blooming on the bushes and flowers peeked out from the thawing ground, eager to drink in the warmth that the winter had left in its path.

Draco was thinking of a way to get rid of Pansy for the afternoon to take a stroll on the grounds when Blaise Zabini wrinkled her nose and pointed. 

"What's that?" she said curiously. "We've walked this hallway a thousand times and I've never seen that door before." Her finger was pointing at a handsome wooden door with a brazen brass knob. 

Another Slytherin boy shrugged. "The doors here are always wandering around. It'll be gone soon."

The clique turned to go but Blaise remained behind, still looking at the door like it was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out. 

"I wonder what's inside," Blaise mused. She reached for the knob and twisted it. The door needed a bit of a budge to open, but it finally did, and with a protesting squeak from the old hinges, it swung hesitantly. Everyone peered inside, and even Draco looked in with interest, Pansy still clutching his arm.

The room was not very large and pretty much bare, save for one piece of furniture.

A dark cherry brown piano sat proudly in the middle of the room. It was magnificent, and Draco's mouth hung slightly open as he gazed at its beauty. Lean, elegant, and painstakingly carved legs supported the body frame. Light smoothed its edges. Reams and reams of music sheets lay on the floor, beckoning in a strange, luring voice to anyone who saw to come and make the notes come alive.

A strange urge came over Draco, and he suddenly wanted everyone to go away, so he could be alone with the majestic wooden siren, and he was about to tell them to leave; it was on the tip of his tongue, when Pansy shattered his thoughts into a million pieces with a pig-like squeal.

"Oh, it's so pretty!" she exclaimed, dancing on her tiptoes.

_Damn right it is, thought Draco, for once approving of an intelligent comment made by the pug-nosed girl. Normally, Pansy's view of something 'pretty' rarely extended beyond something that was either shocking pink or a favorable lipstick hue candidate._

 His momentary acceptance of her as a sentient creature was dashed when Pansy rushed right over to the piano, sat herself down heavily on the plush, sound music bench and immediately started banging the keys in what she hoped to be the tune "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

She obviously had never learned the keys and was playing from a standard version—key this one twice, the one to the right two times…

Draco set his jaw in annoyance at her and winced when she struck a particularly clashing note. To his ears, it was worse than nails scraping on a rough chalkboard. The others in his group didn't seem as affected, and one even commented that she knew the notes better than he did. If that were true, he would have to have little more music talent in his smallest toe than Peeves did when he sang French love songs while trying to drop pee balloons on hysterical first-year girls.

The piano was perfectly all right, in fact, it was in much better of a tune than any other piano he had played, but Pansy's discordant bashing sounded like a choir of banshees on one of their bad singing days. Draco bit his lip. Such a delicate instrument did not deserve such harsh treatment from a musical heathen's tortures like Pansy's. Without thinking, he came over to her side.

"Here," he said, placing his hands on the keys, "these ones are the basic notes. Spread your fingers apart, like this…" He demonstrated for her how to do it, playing a simple little bar for her. "Don't bang, just lightly push, with the ends of your fingers…" 

He trailed off as he realized Pansy was no longer interested in the piano, but in the platinum blonde right next to her. She was plainly more caught up in doting on him than getting it right. Draco held back a snort of disgust and wondered why he even bothered. He turned back to the door leading out. He didn't want to leave the piano, but he didn't want Pansy to torment the exquisitely beautiful keys, either. 

So he left, and the others followed, including a very excited Pansy thinking that this meant she was going to get her kiss for Valentine's Day.

Draco ate at top speed at lunch that day, agitated at not having been able to play the piano like he wanted so badly. He escaped from the table once he felt like he had shoveled in enough food to last him until dinner. He mumbled something about needed to do some work and left.

After lunch was finished, Draco managed to shake off Pansy with an excuse for needing to go to the library, even though he had already finished all his homework. She had insisted that she come with him, but he had argued back, saying that it would only take an hour or so.

He headed in the direction of the library, being careful to duck in side passages and blend in with a crowd of chattering students. Once he was sure that Pansy was no longer following, he headed in the direction of the hallways he had traveled earlier. His steps were quicker, longer than usual, as he was anxious to get back to the mysterious room and try out his own fingers on the keys that called him to the room with the promise of sweet music, exercising an irresistible pull on every fiber of his being.

Finally after an eternity he came back to the corridor he had walked before, searching eagerly for the same handsome wooden door with the same brazen brass knob. He was determined to not let his spirits go down when all the door knobs he saw were silver.

His heart leaped when he spied a brass knob, but it was grubby and covered with fingerprints, and the wood of the door was crumbling and old. Nevertheless, Draco opened it up anyways and was disappointed when it only turned out to be one of Filch's broom closets. He sighed and slammed the door shut, causing several startled spiders to slip from their corner-dwelling silk webs onto the dirty floor below.

He had already used up twenty minutes of his precious hour, but didn't care about that as much as just finding the room.

 He was about to give up when he at long last saw the intact wooden door with the pretty brass knob. He entered hastily and breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he had been barely breathing while searching for the room. The piano still sat there, waiting patiently for someone to come along and play it the way it deserved to be. Draco did not want to disappoint it and quickly sat down.

He glanced briefly at the music sheets strewn across the floor then decided to ignore them for the moment. He lightly rested his fingertips on the keys, feeling a little thrill work its way down his spine. His hands stayed arched, poised to deliver the pushes that would send the ethereal notes gently drifting through the air and breathe life into the room.

Draco started with a simple bar that was one of the first he had learned starting the piano. He, being the only child of an exceedingly rich family, had had a traditional classic upbringing before he started Hogwarts. His father had wanted him to focus on manly things like fencing, dueling, mathematics and the like, but his mother had encouraged him to also pursue the more artistic aspects of his education. From the early age of five, he had swiftly discovered the melodic piano to be his favorite. 

After discovering that his son had a feel for the keys, Draco's father bought him a pleasant piano and had Draco play for guests whenever the Malfoys invited some over—the Minister, Barty Crouch, and several other important wizards had heard him play and were very impressed. It was a good social point.

The modest piece soon became flowing and refined. Draco added more and more to the inelegant tune until it became a fragile rhapsody, the notes spiraling rapturously through the air before settling back down and allowing themselves to be caught up in the lovely sequence of sounds.

                For the first time in a long time, Draco felt himself relax. All of the worries and tensions that had worked up inside for the past few years now melted away. His muscles loosened, letting the music thoroughly massage them more effectively than a professional masseuse. His mind was so completely, blissfully blank that his normally fierce guard was let down and he didn't notice the small, compact redhead that was listening attentively to every note.

Ginny Weasley stood behind the door, just around the corner. She listened in half amazement and half complete shock at the music spilling out of the piano like rippling water. A little annoyance was wedged solidly in there too. Why did such a great talent have to be given to so awful a person? She would have preferred one of her brothers playing there, or Harry, or Hermione.

She also marveled at the way Draco seemed to be with the music. It was a symbiosis: the movements of his hand were the notes on the music sheet, and both were flawless. She imagined that Draco was pouring out his soul through his fingers, and that soul was full of music.

Ginny hazarded another peek around the corner and saw him again. He was completely engrossed with the keys and looked like he wasn't playing from a music sheet, or even from heart. She had the feeling that he was improvising as he went along, and that shocked her more. She had never known anyone who could just pull beautiful bars out of thin air so effortlessly.

She was so intent on watching Draco's reverie that her mind slipped along with her hand. She stumbled forward clumsily. Hastily she clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was no use. Immediately the music stopped and the air became stiff again.

Draco looked up with a startled glance and saw Ginny standing there. His mouth worked, clearly not knowing what to say to this unexpected surprise. Finally his guard was back up and he asked gruffly, "How long have you been there?" He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

"About five minutes," came the tentative answer.

Draco groaned inwardly. That was worth five minutes of blackmail. That was about homicide here at Hogwarts.

Ginny knew what he was thinking and said quickly, "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're thinking."

"Why?" Draco said. "You know as well as I do that five minutes' worth of blackmail is enough for grounds of suicide." There was the familiar smirk back in his voice, but the effects of the piano still lingered, and Ginny thought Draco's voice was almost harmonious. 

"Well…because. I liked it." Ginny's faced reddened a bit and she hoped Draco didn't notice.

He didn't say anything. Perhaps he was still getting over the surprise that a _Weasley, of all people, was passing up a perfectly good opportunity to blackmail him. Ginny supposed she would have been surprised too, if it had been her._

An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Draco relaxed a bit, and looked at the keys almost in embarrassment. Ginny, wanting to break the awkward stillness, asked, "Could…could you show me?" She looked uncertain at her own daring.

Draco looked up. That was clearly not the thing he had expected her to say. Part of his mind said 'no' instantly, and he opened his mouth to say it when instead the words came out, "I guess."

He blinked. Why had he just done that? She was a Weasley _and a Gryffindor. Then he told himself that the smarter part of his brain made him say that, because it knew that if he refused her, she might go back on her promise of no blackmail. He desperately wanted to believe that, but it was too late in any case. The little redhead came closer. He steeled himself, and then scooted over on the bench to make room. Fortunately, it was fairly big, so he didn't worry about being in too close of proximity with her._

Ginny came and sat down. She then looked at him for instructions. Draco quickly started, hoping the sooner he did, the sooner this would end and they could go back to ignoring each other in the hallway like they had always done.

"Put your fingers here. These are the simple bar keys, the basic ones…" For the next ten minutes he showed her the keys, and told her which notes were where. He had her play a couple of bars from a simple song. To his astonishment, she listened like a good student, and caught on quickly, only making a few mistakes here and there.

Once she hit a wrong note and Draco flinched. "Sorry," said Ginny hastily. Draco berated himself for doing that.

"Er…you didn't really hit that note on purpose. Your wrist needs to be held up higher, and your fingers arched. That way your wrist won't accidentally jounce any wrong key." He demonstrated for her, and she tried to copy his hand's position with her own. The result was that her wrist arched at a peculiar angle and it looked uncomfortable. Draco took a deep breath, and prepared himself.

"Here," he muttered, and hesitatingly took her hand and gently bent the wrist up. She jumped a bit at his touch and flushed, and then allowed her hand to be guided into the right position. Ginny trembled a bit inside, though not from fear, and something fluttered in her stomach. Draco finished with her wrist and moved on to her fingers, spreading them apart slightly and bended the fingers where they could reach the keys more easily. After her hand was in the correct position, he withdrew his own. His face was pink, and he noticed that his hands shook.

"Thanks."

Draco nodded.

Ginny smiled, though it looked a bit embarrassed. "Ah, I'll practice on that."

Draco, thinking that this meant she was leaving, nodded. He wondered why part of him wanted her to stay longer, and forced the thought out of his mind. He turned back to the piano, but Ginny didn't leave. He looked at her and saw that she was fidgeting a bit, and gave her a questioning glance.

She grinned sheepishly. "I was hoping you'd play some more."

In spite of himself, Draco smiled genuinely. He didn't say anything, just put his fingers on the keys and started a slow, pretty piece while Ginny closed her eyes.

_He's really not so bad, Ginny thought.___

_She's really not so bad, Draco thought._

                Well, how did you like? It was short, yes, forgive me, I wanted to make it longer, but if I did I would have to make it sappy, and as much as I love maple syrup, I don't want to make you sick. I don't do romance, I just felt like a little D/G. Tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter Two

Hmm…I said that I wouldn't do another chapter of this fic…but you all convinced me to do more. I understand that I somewhat cheated you all on the last chapter; it wasn't really romance, after all. So I've decided to supply you all with the sap that I've promised. Boysenberry syrup, anyone?

_Porcelain Notes_

_Chapter Two_

Ginny brushed a strand of her fiery red hair out of her face, and securely tucked it behind her ear. She never really liked to leave it down; it got in her face all of the time and it distracted her from concentrating on her work properly, as she had to constantly push it back. She almost regretted not putting it up…almost.

Surprised to see her with her hair not pulled up in a loose ponytail or tied behind the nape of her neck, many people stopped to compliment her. It was strange—it seemed that many had a natural affinity toward red heads. It didn't hurt matters that her hair was sleek and shiny, despite the cheap shampoo that she used, and long. It was a flowing curtain of silk tumbling halfway down a tiny back.

Nearly everybody saw it as a beautiful asset to Ginny's already pretty form, but the petite girl only saw it as a nuisance. 

So why had she left it down?

A faint tinge of pale pink colored Ginny's soft cheeks. She pressed too hard with her quill and it bent slightly at the end. Sighing slightly, she picked it up and pinched it carefully, trying to cajole the end back into place.

It was strange. So what if Draco Malfoy had said that her hair looked nice down? His opinion of such matters wasn't important to Ginny—was it? 

It had been about two weeks since Ginny first encountered the older boy in a secret room in one of Hogwart's many corridors, and in those two weeks, Draco had been teaching her the fine basics of piano. He had not bothered to hide his approval as the smaller girl proved to be an apt learner, quickly mastering the simple chords that spilled across the music sheets. He had even smiled at her. Small, nearly undetectable, but there and genuine nonetheless.

Ginny had been surprised to see that Draco wasn't a bad teacher. He didn't scold her when she made a mistake, or didn't keep on time. He was distantly patient. Ginny had had much worse for instructors. Draco didn't exactly dish out the compliments, but his nods of approval were worth more than empty words of praise any day.

They hadn't told anybody, of course. Friendships would be broken and rumors would start. And Draco had nearly become a friend. Ginny didn't want to lose that now. Behind cold, gray eyes the color of pale marble, there had been a flicker of decency that Ginny was sure that no-one had seen before.

Sometimes they had talked. It was about anything that crossed their minds, really. Anything from annoyances to irritable teachers, to pestering friends and the latest Quidditch game. Ginny had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Draco had the same love of sushi that she did.

Once Ginny had asked him why he knew so much about music. Draco had shrugged.

"Partly because it's a good social point for guests," he had said. "And partially because I like it." The words were simple, but somehow profound.

And just the day before they had been in the room again playing. Ginny had tossed her head at a light joke Draco had made, and her hair partially fell out of its messy bun. Ginny had taken out the hair band to tie up her hair again when Draco spoke.

"Why don't you ever leave your hair down?" he asked. A hint of curiosity crossed his admittedly handsome features.

Usually when people asked her that, she would shrug and say that she hated having her hair get in her face. The only reason that she hadn't cropped it short was because her Mum would have killed her. But when Draco had said those simple words, she had been at a loss for words. When he asked, it felt like the most logical thing in the world to wear her hair down.

Ginny managed to shrug. "It gets in the way," she said earnestly. However, she wrapped her hair band around her wrist.

Draco tilted his head, a habit that Ginny noticed he seemed to have. "It looks nice down," he remarked laconically. Then he had returned to playing another bar so skillfully that it put Ginny's efforts to shame.

Now, Ginny returned to attempting to finish her homework. She didn't know why the boy's comment had affected her decision. She had never been the type to do something just because a boy complimented her on it. Ginny winced at the thought of what Ron would say.

The next day, Friday, was pretty slow. The normal routine of classes seemed to dramatically stretch. Draco passed Arithmancy drumming his quill lightly on his parchment, occasionally jotting down notes, and trying to ignore the bleating protests of his grumbling stomach, demanding for lunch.

Draco yawned as he walked out of class. Unfortunately, Arithmancy was the only class that Pansy didn't have with him. When he had picked his schedule for the following year, Pansy had somehow memorized it and copied down the exact same choices for herself. But Arithmancy had proved too difficult, and she had been forced to drop out after only a month. For this Draco was glad. Arithmancy class was the only place that his female shadow disappeared. That, and his lessons with Ginny.

At first he thought that it would be miserable teaching her. It had felt somewhat like blackmail at first, but he quickly grew to realize that indeed, the girl really did have an interest in music. An admittedly classy one at that. Soon Draco actually started to enjoy his tri-weekly sessions with her. She was a fast learner and far more quick than dim, slow-witted Pansy, whose only talent derived in tailing Draco until he thought he would go mad.

Draco scowled. There he went, thinking about her again.

Draco paused as a magnificent head of red hair appeared in his line of sight, several people in front of him and to the right. Ginny hadn't seen him.

The boy couldn't fight the slight, sharp intake of breath. That hair sure was pretty.

He frowned. Why had she suddenly decided to wear her hair down? As far as he knew, the girl hated having her locks get in her face. Draco tilted his head again and considered, and arrived at only one possibility: she had taken his comment to heart, and wore her hair down for him.

Draco shivered. For _him? Yet he could not suppress a small smile. A knot of girls passed him and saw the rare benign upward curve of his lips, and nearly fell swooning—they thought he was smiling at them. Draco didn't notice._

All his life, people had tried to get on his good side. Presents were unconditionally offered, compliments made. But none had seemed as strangely profound as a small girl wearing her hair down for him.

For him, and him alone.

Draco saw other boys, even fellow Slytherins, eyeing her as she walked by. Apparently her rare style had an affect on others too. But not in the same way. Draco had no doubt that Ginny had been asked to leave her hair down before, and was pretty certain that she had never done so. But she had, and merely because Draco had mentioned something about it. Did Ginny really care about his opinion that much?

Draco's mind was wandering, but his feet responded automatically to the routine trek down to the Great Hall for lunch. Before he knew it, his normal chair was right in front of him, and Pansy's chair, right next to it, was occupied by none other than his shadow herself. Pansy was stuffing herself with food. Draco never figured out how she could eat so much and barely gain a pound.

Pansy stopped long enough to beam at him as he sat down and reached for some food without a single comment directed towards her. Pansy was used to that, but something had changed.

The pug-nosed girl was stupid, but she wasn't…well, yes she was, but even a girl like her could notice the subtle changes in one of the school's most sought-after bachelors (although Pansy consistently claimed that Draco was already spoken for). The sixth-year seemed more tolerant. He didn't snap at her as much, and when he did, there wasn't much heart in his words. Originally Pansy had thought that she was finally winning him over with her overworked charm and fake eyelash batting. But those hopes died when she realized that he often didn't listen to her words and let his mind wander, usually giving him a strange, glazed look in his eyes. If Pansy hadn't known better, she could have sworn that the stiff teenager was daydreaming.

And then there were the times that Draco managed to slip out of her line of sight—which normally was very poor, but eagle-eyed when it came to certain young men—and didn't show up again for another few hours. When he came back, he would seem a bit more pleasant towards everyone in general. Even Pansy. She wasn't about to complain, but…it was strange. Usually, whenever Draco was even slightly sweet, it meant that he had something up his sleeve—something painful.

But two weeks had passed since these strange occurrences started happening, and no-one had blown up yet.

Pansy shrugged. The Christmas spirit must finally be getting to him. Break was starting the next day and homework was at a surprisingly low level. That is, if you didn't have Divination. Professor Trelawney was going into contortions over some celestial arrangement of the heavens, and was predicting gruesome deaths right and left. She was making all of the students make a bunch of their own predictions, complete with complicated figures. Pansy scowled as she took a swig of pumpkin juice. If she had wanted to do math, she'd have stayed in Arithmancy. 

And the only homework that Trelawney should have given was to stay alive during the holidays. 

The rest of the day passed as slowly as the first. Ginny meandered through the halls absentmindedly. Dinner wouldn't be for another hour, and she had nothing to do. Oh, she could probably work on her Divination—math never bothered her, and predicting horrible things was fun; she could see why Trelawney liked it so much—homework, but she had too much to think about.

Christmas break had essentially started, and she was back in her annual dilemma. Her family was poor, of course, so she always had little money to spend on gifts for others. She had managed to purchase satisfactory things for her family, but friends were another matter. Most of Ginny's money had already been spent.

Her friends had always told her that it was okay—she didn't need to get them anything, and that it was the thought that counted. But it didn't help matters much; Ginny always felt miserable anyway, and this year was even worse.

She supposed she was stupid for even thinking about it, but she really did want to get something for Draco Malfoy. True, she had really only known him for about two weeks, but…well, she didn't know. He had taken time out of his own life to teach her how to master the basics of piano. He hadn't had to. Draco knew that she wouldn't blackmail him for anything, so he was obligation-free. Yet he had still taught her.

Giving him a gift seemed appropriate. But what to give to the richest kid in school? Her whole house probably wasn't worth much more than most of the gifts Draco most likely got every year—anything she bought would pathetically pale in comparison. And Draco wasn't a likely candidate to comfortingly say 'it's the thought that counts'.

So what do you give to the boy that has everything he could possibly want?

Ginny knew he liked music, but the guy had every instrument that he could possibly want. Violins, pianos, even xylophones. And he already knew every symphony composed by major musician.

Something musical would have to do, though. She didn't know much more about him that extended beyond that field, except for his love of sushi. Maybe she'd get a hold of a plate of that from the kitchens or something.

She decided upon that, but something was still missing. There was really nothing to say her gratefulness that he had bothered to teach her anything. He had already given her a wonderful gift—a taste for classical melodies, spiraling whimsically in the air before settling down and catching in the flow again. 

Classical…melodies.

Ginny grinned and stopped in the middle of the hall, startling Mrs. Norris, who had been prowling around the corner.

She entered a more crowded hallway, full of bustling students hurrying to change out of their cloaks and into more comfortable wear. Pushing through the crowd, Ginny's face broke into a wide grin.

It froze a little as she spotted a platinum blonde head weaving though the mass of hats, standing out like a star of ivory against a seething sea of black. A few people scattered here and there, allowing Ginny a view of Draco, looking very annoyed as he walked in between Crabbe and Goyle. They were apologizing stupidly for something, and Draco was wringing out his hat in disgust, and a sticky-looking liquid oozed out from the material.

Ginny had no doubt that the two towering lumps of flesh had done something stupid again, and brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. Draco caught it and looked up to see the source—and found Ginny, discreetly looking sideways at him as she pretending to pick fluff out of her robes, her fiery hair a curtain of flames sharply contrasting with her black cloak. She was laughing at him—no, at his two sidekicks, wrinkling their beady eyes as they attempted to say something intelligent.

Draco couldn't help it; he snorted himself. Ginny saw and winked at him, plainly saying that she felt sorry that he had such awful shadows that followed him. Draco rolled his eyes, but at the same time, a pink tinge graced his features. Ginny had winked at him.

Nevertheless, he nodded slightly to her before wiping all traces of a smile off his face as he turned to face Crabbe and Goyle.

Ginny shook her head. Her mind briefly considered that Draco looked beautiful when he smiled, but she shoved away the thought and continued on her way.

Three hours later, Ginny snuck into the now-familiar hallway where the secret room was hidden. She had never really been in it before her lessons, but now that she was in it frequently, she had reason to believe that this hall led to the Slytherin common room entrance. She wondered what it was like, as the small girl walked along. Was it cozy and warm? Did the students laugh a lot in there?

Ginny, in her musings, paused in front of the door. She hadn't had to look where she was going; her feet automatically carried her along her path. She looked up, expecting to see the same handsome, wooden door, but instead saw…

Nothing.

Ginny blinked and stepped back. Had she turned a wrong corner? She looked around, her red hair shimmering as it moved with her head and caught the light. No, the door should have been there. All of the other familiar entrances were in their places, and the door to the secret room should have been right in front of her. But it wasn't. Ginny retraced her steps and looked more for the wooden door with the brass knob. Several were like it, but none were the same. Their brass knobs were tarnished and grubby, possessing none of the lean elegance of the door she was used to.

Ginny tuned down another corner, and doubled back as she knew it was the wrong way. All of her steps led back to the empty wall, but that couldn't be it…

A small, wild thought entered her mind as she searched through the hall. 

_The secret rooms always move around here…_

It couldn't be true.

But somewhere in the deeper part of her logical mind, she knew it was. 

Ginny stopped, the full weight of it sinking down on her. No, no no…she turned to go back and nearly ran into someone right in front of her.

Draco Malfoy. Ginny just barely had time to recognize his face before she teetered, her balance thrown off, about to fall backwards and painfully land on the floor. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and braced her bottom for impact with the stone floor.

She waited for a few seconds. No stony ground came up to coldly greet her bum. Her eyes were still closed. She had fallen, hadn't she? But no…something strong and warm had prevented her from crashing to the ground.

Ginny opened one eye slowly, and then the other. She hadn't fallen. Draco had leaned forward in time and caught her, saving her from a bruised rear. Something flickered in his eyes—something akin to concern, perhaps?

It was only there for a moment before his face flushed and he set her back on her feet. Ginny looked at the ground sheepishly.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She wasn't really embarrassed about her klutziness…she was a little more thrown-off about her thoughts of how warm Draco was…

Draco shrugged, although his calm demeanor was a little put-off too, and said, "It's not a problem. Why are you in such a hurry?"

Ginny pointed to the blank space of wall where a certain door had occupied it only a day before. "The door's gone." She looked back to Draco and saw him staring at the space, comprehension not yet dawning upon his handsome features. After a minute, he sagged.

"It was really only a matter of time," he mumbled dejectedly. "The rooms never stay in one place for too long." Ginny had to agree; it had been too much to hope that it would stay there just for them. It had had its own agenda.

"Well…" She hesitated slightly. "What do we do now?"

Draco seemed to consider his words carefully. "We do nothing. It's impractical to try and go around searching for it all over the school Hogwarts is huge; we'd never find it." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. His mind was shouting at him: _Go find it, look for it; it can't be gone…_

The two stood there for what seemed like forever in silence. Ginny hardly knew what to say. The music they had created had spoken their words for them; had created a peaceful atmosphere between them that no conversation would be able to. The small girl twisted and wrung her hands behind her back. She missed the piano already. She hadn't had much practice on it yet, but she was sure that if she could have had more, she would have been able to be wonderful. And now that it was gone, she wouldn't be able to create a Christmas present for Draco…

While Ginny was swimming in her sea of thoughts, Draco was drowning in his own. No more piano. No more music to smooth his knotted muscles, ease his concerns about his home, his father, his life…no more sessions with Ginny. Draco wasn't sure which he was the most sorry about.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Ginny looked at him expectantly, clearly wanting for him to have the first word. Draco cleared his throat. "I'd better get going," he said gruffly, and lightly turned on his heel to walk away, leaving Ginny to stare at his back.

Her small frame seemed smaller as she saw him walking away, knowing that there was no more reason to see him anymore. No more music. They would never smile at each other in the hallways again, never laugh at jokes. He had almost been a friend.

Ginny couldn't restrain herself, and called out. "That's a rather abrupt way to leave this, isn't it?" she said. Draco's walk slowed. His steady gate reduced drastically, and each foot rolled slowly from heel to toe before taking another step. Yes, it was rather abrupt. But what other way to handle the situation? Cry together? Draco snorted at the thought. But nonetheless, he halted and turned around.

"How would you have us end this, Miss Weasley?" he asked, his voice lined with a touch of mockery. "We weren't having an affair. It was just a piano." Even as he spoke the words, he knew that the latter wasn't true. But he wasn't going to be a pussy about it.

Ginny frowned at him from halfway across the hallway. Funny, how even twenty feet away, Draco could still pick out every freckle on her face.

"And so that's it?" she called again, indignantly. "Why did we waste the past two weeks of our lives, to just go on and pretend it never happened?"

Draco scowled. "To pretend _what never happened?"_

Ginny let her arms slack at her side. "Draco, don't deny it. Sometime in the past two weeks, something happened. You developed a nicer side." Draco's mouth went dry.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he snapped. "Two weeks doesn't change someone from the way they've been for their entire life." He started to turn again, walking away. Ginny was left standing there, a small little girl once again.

Hmmm, how will this dilemma end?

Well, please read and review, and let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter Three

Thought you'd gotten rid of me, right?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I was goop-jawed for an entire quarter of an hour while I wondered just when one of my stories had gotten popular.

_Porcelain Notes_

_Chapter Two_

It was three days into Christmas break and Ginny hadn't as much as made eye contact with Draco. However, it was amazing how she could always somehow run into him in the hallway when she really didn't want to.

She feared the worst; she had lost someone that could have been a friend. And now, Ginny dared think, perhaps something more. But all of that was impossible now, and the two would have to live their lives out without the other. Ginny really didn't want it to end this way, but what could she do? As bad as the situation was, Ginny wasn't _about to go and beg Draco to see her again. That wasn't her style, and this wasn't a romance novel._

Ginny snorted at the last thought and tossed her head, hair pulled once more into a loose ponytail tied at the base of her neck. Several had commented that she should wear it down more often, and not just once a year, but she had ignored them and pulled it back anyway. The one person whose opinion mattered wasn't speaking to her.

One could suppose that the two were having a quarrel, but it didn't possess the same nature. Ginny wished it were only so.

She had gone searching for it, of course. It had been the first priority on her list over the holidays. _Why did this have to happen? She had never really gotten a big break in her life, and while this certainly wasn't a music deal or a business contract, it was so much more important than anything else could be. _

As she had somewhat expected, she couldn't find it. It was impossible, considering all of the variables—perhaps it only showed up once a year? Once every decade? Ginny had no idea what the conditions were. She couldn't just expect it to be somewhere in the castle. Hogwarts wasn't just a school whose rooms moved around—it was a brooding maze with so many twists and turns that someone could get lost just getting out of bed.

And so, she had reluctantly resigned herself to the fact that she was not going to see that piano again. She had taken it for granted, and the gifts it had given to her: the love of music, and the friendship she had started with Draco, albeit a secret one.

This was proving to be a miserable Christmas.

Ginny fingered the present she was wrapping. It was a book for Hermione. It wasn't much, but Ginny had thought it fit her older friend. She was wrapping it with silvery paper that had been left over by someone else. Ginny folded the smooth sheets with crisp, neat lines, carefully sealing the edges with her wand. And then she sighed.

Hermione was so easy to shop for. Everyone knew what she always wanted: books. And Hermione had never bothered to say otherwise, and always laughed with delight when she saw yet another brand-new book sitting right there in front of her, fresh-smelling pages inviting her to dive into their depths.

Hermione was so _predictable._

Harry and Ron were, as well. All Ginny had to do was buy them candy, a practical joke set (which she usually reserved for her brothers), or something that involved Quidditch, and the two boys would think it was the cleverest gift in the world. They weren't daft; they were just…boys.

But Draco was different from anyone else she had met. His moods had flowed like the notes on the music sheets, always mysterious, but somehow also constant. Like the smooth melodies, he always had a subtle meaning beneath his thick coats of eloquent words. Ginny liked to think he spoke in riddles. Everything he said was a metaphor for something else, and it could usually be taken several different ways, somehow woven in with each other to mean the same thing.

Draco Malfoy made for a very interesting person, no doubt about that.

Ginny had thought hard for hours on end about what to give him. Money was a serious problem—she didn't have any. Draco was used to the finest, and she couldn't give him that. 

The redhead's hands shook slightly and the crease she was folding bent in the wrong place. She went back and re-did it, carefully putting the fold back in the right place. If only her real problem was that easy. If only her whole life were that easy.

She supposed that would take all of the challenges out of the world, though. But what would she choose?

Ginny tried to shake the negative thoughts from her head as she finished wrapping and placed the present to the side. This was Christmas, a time for friends, family, and good cheer. But she certainly didn't feel cheerful now, and wasn't in a celebrating mood.

If she had been someone else, she might have cried. But Ginny didn't cry easily. She had lived with six brothers, and anything even remotely feminine was frowned upon by them. No, Ginny didn't cry, and certainly didn't cry over Draco Malfoy. He could only be so lucky.

While Ginny was morosely mulling and poring over her emotions, Draco was flinging fireballs at his own, which were busily demanding that he talk to her. Smile at her. Wink at her. Do _anything to let her know…let her know what? That he __wasn't sitting on his ass sulking all the time?_

Draco scowled and picked at a ball of fluff that dared rest on his immaculate robes, flicking it to its fate on the cold floor.

Why was he even thinking about her? Draco supposed he pitied her, in a superior way, of course. She was probably disappointed that they wouldn't be meeting anymore for her lessons—but was that it? Or was there something else involved?

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. Ginny wasn't stupid. She wouldn't fall in love with a boy that she could never be with.

But she wore her hair down for him.

Needless to say, Draco Malfoy was in a very bad mood. 

He had even considered giving her a gift. That, in itself, was amazing. Contradicting to popular belief, he wasn't selfish. He didn't think that the whole world centered on him and him alone. He just didn't like people, and rarely gave presents to people he didn't like. Crabbe and Goyle, they got presents because they were the sons of very close friends of his father. Draco didn't mean to sound catty (but if he did, he really didn't care), but they weren't very intelligent, and it was very nearly impossible to hold a civilized conversation with them for more than two minutes, if that. And Pansy…well, he just couldn't stand those damn puppy dog eyes. He hated them. The silver-haired boy didn't find those eyes charming at all and only got her a present just to make those eyes go back to the dull expression they normally carried.

Draco's scowl deepened. 

At that moment, sitting in an armchair drumming his fingers on his leg, head tilted in his usual fashion and silver-blonde strands of hair trailing down his cheek, he decided that his life ultimately sucked at the moment.

Ginny yawned and woke up. The pale, winter sun was blearily peeking in on her, gently nudging her reluctant brain to start functioning for the day. Through her closed eyelids, Ginny could tell that it was late morning. She yawned again; a long and satisfactory yawn, stretched luxuriously in her sheets, and considered staying in her warm, cozy bed underneath her warm, cozy covers. She felt just right at the moment. A second later something nagged at her, telling her that no, not everything was okay. She hated that.

Suddenly Ginny didn't feel so comfortable. Her hair, tied behind her neck, dug into her skin as she rested her head on the pillow. Her toes were too cold, and her pajamas too itchy. Ginny sighed and slowly crawled out, drinking in its warmth as long as she could before she was completely exposed to the frigid air.

Ginny blew on her hands quickly and hopped about her trunk, tugging on a decent pair of slacks that wasn't missing any belt loops. She changed as quickly as possible, not wanting to prolong her bare skin's exposure to the frosty atmosphere.

A long-sleeved T-Shirt, big, green wool sweater, and thick socks later, she laced up her shoes and trotted out the doorway, barely bothering to brush her hair before tying it back again.

The corridors seemed especially unfriendly that day, and little stone gargoyles eyed her warily from their perches. She felt their granite eyes on her back and shivered. She never did particularly like being in the castle at winter. Most of her friends would go home for the holidays—being of the more slightly giggly bunch, they tended to be prone to home-sickness—and Ron, Harry and Hermione would band together and ignore her. The twins were gone, having graduated the year before, and now there was no-one to talk to, save a handful of first years and a nervous-looking second year. 

It was Christmas Eve. Or rather, Christmas Eve Morning. Ginny hummed "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to herself as she padded silently along. Oh, how she would hate it so much if her "true love" were to do anything like that for her. Too sappy, she believed. Ginny had never been much for trashy romance clichés—once again, a product of living with brothers. She supposed that she had been spared a horrible fate, unlike, strangely enough, Ron, who was beginning to go goop-eyed whenever a certain brunette would walk by. 

The small redhead was lost in her thoughts and wasn't looking where she was going—and promptly smacked into someone turning the corner, who apparently had had the same fault.

It felt roughly like deliberately walking into a wall and Ginny felt her nose sting a bit. She looked up and saw none other than Draco Malfoy.

Part of her briefly considered how unlikely it was that _he was the one that she ran into, and this was suspiciously akin to one of those sappy romance novels that she dearly hated. That thought tucked away for further consideration at a more appropriate time._

However, with one thing filed away to be reflected upon again at an appropriate time, she had no other options as of what appropriate thought or action to fill in at this utterly dreadful, inappropriate time. 

So, for lack of anything else to do, she ignored him and walked by.

During the brief exchange of…absolutely nothing, Draco had said nothing, done nothing, and indeed, appeared that he had the same dilemma of no appropriate things to say at this utterly dreadful, inappropriate time. It was quite the opposite; he had the most proper thing to say, but no proper words to say it with; if he had thought some more on it, he probably would have come up with those proper words: "Sorry about that." But Draco was seldom appropriate, and certainly never at the right times.

Yet the sixth-year would have thought that Ginny certainly would have made up for his total lack of manners. But she simply walked by him as if he didn't exist—like she had merely bumped into an invisible barrier in the hallway, except with considerably less curiosity than if that had been the case.

Draco felt she ought to say something—anything, to make up for his total lack of manners, but found himself being completely appropriate at the strangest, inappropriate time.

"Happy Holidays to you, too."

Well, not completely appropriate.

Ginny turned her head slightly around without changing her pace, and nodded to him. That was it. She just nodded. She didn't smile, didn't wish him good holidays back. Just nodded, as if he had no more than commented on the weather.

Speaking of which…

"Lovely, numbing weather we're having, isn't it?"

Perhaps, by a total, freaky chance, circumstance would be reversed and she would respond the way she should have to the previous statement.

Such was not the case.

She kept walking.

Draco felt mildly annoyed. Here he was, trying to be polite, and for no particular reason, but for many at once, and she completely stiffed him. He wracked his silver-wreathed head for something that would at least make her stop.

"You're not wearing your hair down."

Slowly, Ginny's footsteps halted. She turned to face Draco, her features calmly composed.

"I wore it down and decided I didn't like it like that."

"You hadn't decided that before?"

That caught her off guard a bit, and she didn't seem quite sure of what to say. So she turned around and started walking off again. Draco frowned in irritation and found himself jogging after her. He caught up in a second and matched her pace, stride for stride. Ironically enough, he did it so that their feet alternated inside foot, outside foot.

Ginny frowned herself. "Leave me alone."

Draco considered his answer, and concluded that diplomacy hadn't worked the first two tries. "No."

Ginny's big brown eyes flared slightly—he loved that. "Why?"

"Because I haven't done anything wrong."

"If I list something, would you go away?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't done anything wrong," he repeated.

Ginny frowned again. "You're impossible." Draco bowed, which was difficult because he was walking. It looked roughly like he had stomach pains. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Are you going to breakfast hall?"

Ginny's brows beetled a bit. "Of course. Why?"

"You've passed it."

Ginny looked and saw that indeed, he was telling the truth. She doubled back and was annoyed to find that Draco had stayed in a neatly synchronized, alternating step with her. She tried again. "What do you want?"

Draco lightly stroked his chin, and was a little disappointed that stubble had not found its way there yet. "I want to know…what you want for Christmas."

If nothing else made her stop suddenly, this did. Draco fell out of step and turned back to face her. Her freckled face bore a look of greatest incredulity. Slowly, it turned into resentment.

"That's not a very nice question to ask," she muttered morosely, but still looked him in the eye, and saw his icy grey ones narrow in confusion.

"Why's that?"

"You only give presents to people you don't like."

Draco thought for a moment. "That's right."

If Ginny had been surprised at that answer, she didn't show it. Instead, she scowled. "I would have asked you the same thing, but in my case, it would have been a compliment."

Draco shrugged. "Well, in _my case, it's not an insult. At least, concerning you." Ginny's pretty features were expressionless. "I'll ask you again: what do you want for Christmas?" Ginny didn't answer immediately, but finally looked down and picked at her fingernail._

"I want a lot of things," she admitted.

"We'll see."

"That was supposed to be rhetorical," Ginny snapped.

"Ah."

Silence reigned between the two again. It wasn't an awkward silence, and Draco waited patiently for Ginny to answer his question. Finally, she looked him in the eye again, and said evenly, "I want the music back." Draco nodded simply. He wasn't too surprised; he had been able to tell during those fateful two weeks that her once slight fondness of music had quickly escalated into something much more.

He waited expectantly another moment. Ginny nodded and turned to walk into the Great Hall. Draco seemed a bit bewildered.

"Wait," he called. "Aren't you going to ask me what I want?"

"No," Ginny said over her shoulder, flicked her red hair, and disappeared inside the great doors.

Last chapter next! Stay tuned.


	4. Chapter Four

Sorry it took me so long to get this out. Last chapter!  It's been a good run^^

I won't apologize for any OOC-ness. I'm sorry, but I've warned you that I'm not a romance writer, and no-one's forcing you to read this anyway.

_Porcelain Notes_

_Chapter Four_

Ginny paused to straighten out kinks that were weighing heavily in her sore back. She had been leaning over her work for hours, her mind working fervently. Her fingertips were a little numb from drumming endlessly on the wooden table in front of her, and her eyes were bleary. The pages in front of her swam in her vision, the markings on the paper shifting and dancing to their own music.

Why did this have to be so blasted difficult? Ginny had never done anything like this, and so with the ignorance brought on by inexperience, she had thought that it would be easy. She knew how to do it; it was just _doing it that was the trick._

He had better appreciate this.

But that brought up a problem—how could he appreciate it? It wasn't a question of character, or an insult on the gift itself; it was simply that Ginny had the means to create the gift, but not the means to give it. A beautiful package without wrapping.

But Draco was a musician at heart. Melodies spiraled soundlessly in his head all the time; Ginny knew him well enough to know this. His imagination stretched farther beyond anyone's that Ginny had ever met. Surely he could make it come alive by himself.

But she wasn't so sure.

She was still an amateur. She had spent only two weeks in the world of music, and however strong of an impact it had had on her, it was nothing compared to the years of majestic influence that Draco had.

Ginny sighed. Why was she even doing this? Draco Malfoy wasn't the most pleasant person in the world, nor did he want to be. He seemed to everyone to be just like his house name was envisioned—a curling serpent, cold to all, ready to strike. But as a small Weasley had found out, he wasn't that. He wasn't wonderful, he wasn't terrible, he just…was. It had become startlingly clear: Draco Malfoy was an enigma. An enigma that projected auras of immense unpleasantness in an effort to protect itself, a snake whose only defense was its poisonous tongue and not its teeth. He was by no means a pussy, but not the enraged cobra that everyone else saw.

And the knowledge that Draco would be giving _her_ a present wasn't very flattering. He gave presents to plenty of people he didn't like. Sure, so he didn't exactly turn up at the Gryffindor common room with a basket of sweets for Harry and Ron, but just the same. Ginny sure didn't feel very special.

And why had he taken an interest in her? What about her so compelled him? She wasn't stupid; she didn't just overlook the hints. It was obvious. She saw the way Draco looked at her, his quiet, calculating gaze seeming to penetrate the redhead and analyze her very character. The way he spoke carefully to her, his gauging voice always carefully picking and choosing his words, which always came out in flows of seamless, nearly poetical sentences.

 Draco Malfoy was interested in her. He didn't _like her, that special "like" that most girls giggled endlessly about; it seemed too childish, too common of a word to describe it. Infatuation wasn't it either; he certainly didn't stalk her. _Love_. That was too strong of a word, especially now._

What it was, was a simple, candid interest that when kindled right, could easily amount to something more.

But back to the first question: why? What made him so interested? It wasn't her looks. There were plenty of beautiful girls around the school. Ginny, of course, was considered very pretty too, and had the silky volumes of dazzling red hair that rippled like water when it was allowed to cascade down her back, but she sincerely doubted that she would be voted prettiest girl in school. Her breasts weren't fetchingly large. Some of the other girls showed off their bosoms in the most unseemly manners. She had had no idea before how simple school robes could be adjusted so…strangely.

She sighed. She was a good student, above average, and could very well be great if she put her mind to it. But she didn't. And so her grades, her intelligence, really had nothing to do with anything. Plus, Draco was a good student himself, second to Hermione in their year, and Ginny didn't think he needed any help in his studies. And Draco could never be so superficial. 

There was only one real answer—Draco had always been surrounded by shallow 'friends'. In Ginny, he had met someone that shared a passion. It wasn't what he saw in her. It was that they had something in common. Ginny didn't know whether or not this was preferable.

She sighed; her life was so weird.

It had been by total accident that he had found it. He had just been wandering along, his mind dwelling on nothing particular, not even on Ginny, but totally unfocused and letting random thoughts drift through his head. Draco had been walking along the side of the hallway leading to the Owlery—he had been briefly considering sending a letter to someone, he didn't know who—with his hand trailing along the stone side of the spiraling staircase. 

He was in one of the towers with only a foot and a half of stone serving as a wall between him and the crisp, cold air outside, so logically there was simply no room to be a hidden room anywhere. But Hogwarts had never exactly been the epitome of logic, and all sorts of strange things popped up where they were least expected. It was only worrying when things appeared exactly where they were expected, at the time they were expected, and were received without any inclination of surprise whatsoever.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised but couldn't help being a bit startled when his hand, trailing only lightly on the walls, barely touching the stone, encountered a strange crevice. His fingers felt it before his eyes saw it, but when he turned to look at the strange indentations. 

There was a sort of cross there. Its smoothly cut lines sharply contrasted with the rough, guttural edges of the stone. He knew about that already, he had encountered it many times on his treks up to the Owlery. He usually used it as a mark for himself; once he passed it, he had only one more band to turn and then he would be amidst the soft hoots and glimmering eyes of the owls. 

But this time, something felt different. He peered closer.

He had never noticed before how there was a circle carved around the cross mark. He dug his fingernail into the curve and discovered that it went pretty deep.

Draco wasn't quite sure what made him do it, but he found his hand settling against the stone, warm palm against cool surface. He dug his fingernails into the cracks, and twisted his hand.

The whole thing twisted and shifted. Stones in the wall groaned as they moved for the first time in what had probably been hundreds of years. After a minute, a doorway emerged. Draco stared at it in amazement. He had always assumed the cross in the wall was just there; that someone had scratched it there for some reason.

Well, he was obviously going in. He made sure that the tip of his wand was well lit against the dark passageway, and entered. Shifting creaks let him know that the door was closing, and he spun around only to find that it had closed.

A momentary panic settled in on him; had he gotten locked in here forever? He ventured back towards where the doorway had been. As soon as he had reached it, stones moved again for him, parting the way. He sighed in relief, and headed back down the hallway. The dim light from his wand seemed especially frail against the dark shadows that danced in the corners.

He hadn't been stumbling along for more than five minutes when he staggered blindly into a warm, fuzzy light. He looked up.

Draco was in a room. He glanced around; it was a perfectly ordinary room, but at the same time, it was incredibly different. He had expected it to be a secret passageway to something, maybe treasure. He hadn't expected to find a room full of light. 

His eyes were immediately drawn to the far end of the somewhat spacious room. His breath instinctively caught in his throat as he stepped closer.

He was over two hundred feet up, looking over a great expanse of sky stretched lazily over the grounds. Sunlight streamed everywhere and through the windows. Draco briefly remembered that it had been rather cloudy outside that day, but in the room it was like it was a warm, spring day. Trees erupted throughout the land and even the Forbidden Forest didn't look so bad.

He shook his head. Amazing.

The silver-haired boy looked around the room again. The walls were a sort of comforting golden color, and seemed to radiate a special light of their own. It looked like it hadn't been touched in years, not because it was dusty or dilapidated, but because it had a pure, untouched beauty about it that hadn't been tamed by the groping hands of passerby.

Draco sagged a bit. He then remembered the piano room, and the wonderful feeling that had emanated from it too. He looked around one last time before leaving. This had the same feeling of harmony too. If only there were a piano to fill it up.

Draco sighed as his mind turned to other things, like a certain girl…

Ginny shrugged to herself. Someone sitting nearby in the common room caught it and looked at her strangely. She didn't care.

What she did care about was the fact that she had finally reached a decision. She would finish her present for Draco. She didn't care if he didn't like it, or if he couldn't imagine it. She would make it and that was that.

Which was kinda moot anyway. She had already finished the project and she might as well give it to him. She looked down at it. Her entire soul had been poured into this one small thing. She grinned. 'Essence of Ginny.' That had a ring to it.

She packed up her things and headed upstairs to her dormitory, safely tucking them away where no prying eyes or hands could retrieve it, and then went back downstairs to join the cheerful caroling and jokes bounding throughout the common room.

It was Christmas Eve.

The next morning came without much of a warning. It was unexpectedly dreary for such a wonderful holiday. The sky was battleship gray and somber clouds drifted across the listless sky. The gray seemed to seep into the very grounds, dulling the crisp green of the grass, giving the day a soggy feel instead of the sharp, bright cleanliness everyone was used to around Christmas.

It did nothing to dull the cheer, though. When Ginny walked down the stairs after having thrown on sweat pants and a sweater—she thought she looked positively dreadful—the common room was a riot of reds and greens. Streamers danced around the room to their own magic, and Dean Thomas had created a lovely drawing of Santa Claus and reindeer on the far wall. She stopped a moment to admire it before she was enveloped in a hug. She looked up to see Ron grinning down at her. He tousled her hair lovingly and shoved a present into her hands.

"For you, Little Sister," he said, loopy grin plastered on his face. She grinned back.

"Captain Obvious," she teased, and carefully stripped away the wrapping. Her brothers had always teased her about that habit.

Ginny's grin grew even wider as she saw her present. It was a beautifully embroidered book. The dark red velvet cover was sleek and soft to the touch and felt milky against her fingertips. She flipped it open carefully and was delighted to see the blank, creamy pages. She looked up, grinned, and hugged her brother tightly. He ruffled her hair and walked away to join his friends at the other side of the room. 

It would be perfect for a journal. Or something. Something would be better; she felt that the book was too exquisite to write her boring thoughts down in it; it deserved better than that. 

The idea suddenly came to her. Of course—it was obvious. It would be a music book. A music book, where she could jot down all of her ideas for little ditties and songs—what did it matter if she didn't have a piano? You didn't need to have an instrument to make music. It all came from the heart. Corny, but true.

Ginny wandered around for a little while and opened the rest of her presents—a hand-knit sweater from her mother, chocolates from Papa; a can of mace (Just in Case) and more candies from Charlie, a set of fine eagle quills from Percy, and a pretty necklace that Bill had bought while in Egypt. She eagerly clasped it around her neck. The chain caught the dim rays of light seeping from the outside and turned the dormitory into a dazzling lightshow.

She had been a little disappointed when no package from Draco arrived, when she found no hidden little present tucked in her pile. She supposed she should have known—she had asked the impossible of him; had pretty much asked him to find the piano, even though the school was huge and the secret room could be anywhere. She had asked too much.

And had probably given too little. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when another girl in her year popped her head in the doorway. 

"Come on, Ginny," she said, "let's go to breakfast."

Ginny smiled wryly. "I'm not decent."

Her friend laughed. "When are you ever?" She giggled a moment before saying, "Just run a brush through your hair, Ginny, your appearance is the last thing _you need to worry about." Ginny rolled her eyes but got up nonetheless._

The Great Hall was probably the busiest it had ever been on a holiday. At least, the busiest she had ever seen it. Laughter was abounding, leaping like an invisible spirit from table to table until no-one was left untouched. Students had dropped their customary school robes in favor of reds and greens, tinsel wrapped around necks and wrists and entwined in hair, even some antlers that had been magicked up by one of the more advanced students. 

Christmas carols blared from every which way, especially from the Gryffindor table. Anytime someone didn't know the words they'd make some up, and the carol would collapse when everyone got so confused that they just had to laugh helplessly at themselves.

Ginny sat herself down between her friend and a few other girls from her year. She called a merry greeting to Hermione and Harry, who cheerfully called back, and helped herself to bacon. She loved bacon.

It was a dazzling sight to see the owls swoop in through the windows of the Great Hall. They, too, were adorned for the occasion. Tiny bells were loosely wrapped around their talons and jingled gaily; holly was tucked into their feathers. They carried late-arriving packages to students that brightened up, delighted that that special person had remembered their gift. Silver, gold, shining green, sparkling white wrapping paper was everywhere.

Ginny had finally gotten caught up in the good cheer—it couldn't be helped—and she barely noticed when a small, tawny owl swooped right in front of her, dropping a little note right in front of her. She barely caught it before it fell into her pumpkin juice. Her name was written in perfect lettering on the front. She opened up the snow-white parchment and read the neat, even words:

_Meet me in the _North___Tower__ at _seven o'clock___. Make sure that no-one comes with you._

_D.M.___

D…M? Ginny thought for a moment, and almost dropped the note—Draco? What did he want? 

She subconsciously glanced over to the Slytherin table, where the festive cheer was nearly as radiant as everyone else's. Draco himself had green and red on; a nice, turtle-necked sweater. He had been following the owl's progress as it had made its way to Ginny through the mass of feathers and safely deliver the note. His cool gray eyes met her warm brown ones with absolutely no emotion. He simply raised one eyebrow, as if to ask: Did you get it?

Ginny nodded slightly, only enough for him to see. Yes. She got it. And she would be there. 

Draco looked away.

Ginny went back to eating her bacon, but suddenly all of the light-heartedness went out of her like a balloon. She felt…nervous. Why would he want to meet her? ...To give her a present, of course, her mind said. He didn't want to leave it in your pile this morning and take the chance that someone else would stumble upon it…

The redhead felt a small thrill course down her spine. So he was actually giving her something…

She played with her food the rest of breakfast, and snuck glances at Draco when no-one else was looking. He sat at one of the corners of his table, surrounded by others but oddly detached. It was just an aura he projected—Ginny knew she was being silly for thinking that, but she couldn't help it—that made him seem…unfit for Slytherin. 

Not, of course, that it meant he belonged in any of the other houses. Draco would never willingly join Gryffindor, with his all his shrewd, cunning sagacity; he was certainly too scholarly and not outgoing enough to be in Hufflepuff; Ravenclaw didn't seem to suit him either. But he didn't have the crude, nearly primitive air about him that was normally attributed to most Slytherins. He belonged in a class all his own.

Ginny looked at him again. His silver head was turned away from Crabbe, who was stuffing his mouth, and Ginny saw his lower lip curl in disgust. It wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone else, but she could read him like a book. The smallest alteration in his expression shouted emotion to her; what was passive stoic expression to anyone else was a neon sign of feeling. The tiniest twitch of an eyebrow; the most inconspicuous quirk of the mouth. Ginny knew what it all meant. Like a music sheet, she could read the notes of his mood.

Strange, how she was always comparing him to music. Music was always widely appreciated. Draco was not. Ginny supposed, now munching on eggs, like he was like classical music. A bolero of thoughts; a rhapsody of emotions. A symphony composed of a pointed nose, cool gray eyes, and silver hair.

Now that Ginny was on the subject of his looks—her eyes wandered, and she was surprised to find that she hadn't really given much thought to how handsome he really was. Defined brows rose above his eyes; a straight chin, even when his head was bowed, seemed to be raised higher than anyone else's.

She twisted a napkin in her hands, suddenly embarrassed and feeling like a small child. She couldn't believe that she had been _checking out Draco Malfoy. But while it was a heinous crime in name, she'd bet that a lot of other girls—no matter what house they were in—and done that too, and hadn't been as shy about letting their eyes explore. Ginny flushed hotly at that, and the napkin ripped._

She wasn't going to be a giggling prat and pretend that there was no way that admittedly popular Draco Malfoy could ever be interested in her. She knew he was, and as shocking as it was, it wasn't sudden. Well, not too sudden anyway. It wasn't a crush at first sight; it wasn't a stupid cliché novel. He had gotten to know her in two weeks better than any other girl throughout seven years of school. They had a common interest. She knew he was interested, and she knew that he probably knew she was interested too.

But it wasn't that easy…this was like Romeo and Juliet. Ginny was familiar with the works of William Shakespeare. Unbeknownst to Muggles, the man, when not writing brilliant works of literature, had been a seller of frogs' eyes in Diagon Alley when he was still alive.

Draco was a Slytherin. Ginny was a Gryffindor. Her brother was Ron, a.k.a. Tybalt. And if Ron died by the steel of a sword, then five other brothers would take his place.

But she would not ignore him.

Ginny let down her hair that evening. Literally. She ran it through with a brush and swept it past her shoulders. She had changed into different clothes, nothing too dressy, but not the horrible stuff she had worn earlier. 

After satisfied that she looked halfway decent, Ginny reached down under her bed and pulled up a loose floorboard. Underneath her present for Draco was hidden. She plucked it out, resettled the board, and safely tucked the gift under her winter cloak that she always wore in the castle when it got chilly.

She made it through the common room with no difficulty. Fred and George had been wonderful in teaching her how to convincingly act innocent when guilty, as it was a tendency of most to stammer or somehow give something away. No-one looked at her funny; they assumed that she was probably heading back toward the Great Hall to get a glass of eggnog and chat with friends.

Ginny walked as quickly as she could down the hallways without looking suspicious. She glanced at her watch, which was icy against her skin. 6:49. She hadn't wanted to arrive too early and make herself look like an eager child, but she didn't want to be too late and make him think that she didn't care.

Ginny constantly looked around her when she started getting close. Make sure no-one was following her…she felt a little…thrill. She wasn't scared.

Draco came into view a few minutes later. He was lounging against the North Tower wall, almost to the Owlery. He looked up as she approached, and silver hair fell into his eyes. He blew it out of his way, shoving his hands into his pockets. He held her gaze as she stopped at the step right below his—which, considering, made her rather close—but quickly reverted his eyes to the floor.

Ginny was fascinated. So, this was what the great Draco Malfoy was like when he was nervous. She smiled to herself, a secret smile that Draco may or may not have caught.

He managed a small smile. "You let your hair down," he said simply. He didn't need to say more.

Ginny raised her chin a bit; Draco, though rather short, was on a higher step. "Are you complaining?" she said, unable to keep her lip from turning up. She nearly balked as she realized that she was actually flirting. 

Draco shook his head no and turned to the wall. Ginny shivered, but forgot to be cold once she saw a door slowly emerge from the shifting stones. Her mouth was a round o and Draco turned to her.

"But that's not possible," she breathed. "There's only a foot of wall between us and outside—how can there be a secret passage?"

Draco shrugged. "It's Hogwarts." As if that explained everything. It did.

He stepped into the complete blackness of the passageway and motioned for Ginny to follow. She did, but with hesitance, he noticed. She clearly didn't like the dark, and looked very relieved when he lit up his wand. She started to light up hers, too, but he stopped her with a shake of his platinum head.

"The light's only for _me_ to see," he said, quirking a grin. "You're closing your eyes."

Ginny looked at him like he was daft. 

Draco's grin was replaced by a serious expression. "Trust me."

Ginny gave him a measuring glance. If it had been anyone else…but it wasn't. She nodded and stepped in, starting when the passageway closed behind her. 

"Close your eyes." 

"You're crazy," Ginny said, but closed her eyes anyway. She felt Draco's hand take her wrist. It was surprisingly warm; comforting to the touch. It sent little thrills through her skin; her nerves were aflame with a pleasant fire.

It seemed like forever that they walked down the winding passage that simply should never have existed. Draco carefully watched the ground for any potholes and guided her around them.

And at long last, they emerged into the room.

"You can open your eyes now," he said softly, his breath just barely reaching Ginny's neck. She shivered and opened them.

For a full thirty seconds, she was speechless.

It was a pretty room. She might have stopped to inspect it, but she was too shocked.

Right in the middle of the room was a gorgeous, cherry-wood piano.

"You've found it," Ginny breathed. Draco shook his head, and gently pushed her toward the piano. Lightly emblazoned in gold lettering on the hood was _Ginny Weasley. She traced it with her fingers until she got it and her eyes widened. "It's not the same one?" she asked, hardly daring to believe that he'd gone and done…_

Draco shook his head.

Ginny's knees trembled. He had gotten her a piano. A brand new piano. He'd known that they'd never be able to find the old one. So he'd gotten her a totally new one. "I don't believe this," she whispered. "I can't believe you did this for me." Her eyes tore themselves away from the beautiful keys and traveled up to his features, which a little corner of her mind decided, were far lovelier. 

Draco's cheeks were pink and his eyes were downcast. Ginny could tell that he wasn't about to pretend that it was cheap. Even for a person of his immense wealth, this certainly took a chunk out of his pocket money. And he had done it for her. 

She didn't even know what she was doing; her senses didn't have time to advise against it, but she found herself suddenly hugging Draco tightly around the middle, and kissing him on the cheek. She didn't even pull away in embarrassment when she did realized what the crap she had just gone and done. She didn't care.

Draco stiffened. He had expected her to be happy, had even prepared himself for a possible, quick hug, but she had just kissed him and was still latched on. Awkwardly, he put his arms around her and returned the hug. They stayed like that for a few moments until they both pulled away at the same time. Ginny was grinning like mad; her smile lit up her whole face. Draco smiled too, although he was still blushing madly.

There was a silence between them, but it wasn't awkward. Ginny, in fact, seemed to be thinking, casting her eyes down and considering in the direction of the floor. Draco studied her face carefully; he knew she loved the present, but what was she thinking now?

Wordlessly, Ginny pulled something from an inside pocket of her cloak. It was a few sheets of parchment, loosely bound together by string at one corner. She showed it to Draco and he saw that music notes spiraled across the pages.

"I didn't know how I would give this to you," she murmured, studying it. "I didn't think I'd be able to play it for you—but I wanted to write it anyway."

Ginny looked up and smiled. "Sit with me," she said, and placed herself on one end of the bench. Draco nervously sat next to her. Ginny stretched her fingers and placed the sheets on the rack in front of her, and placed her fingers with perfect posture on the keys.

And she started.

Draco listened in silence as the notes leapt up from the page to drift in the air, as a simple, yet profound melody spelled out from Ginny's fingertips like no magic he had ever witnessed. Though obviously amateur, there was an earnestness about her that was mesmerizing, and the music, sweet and cooling, held a spell over him.

It lasted for a few minutes, and the gentle sensation still lingered after the music stopped. Ginny looked at Draco expectantly. She could tell he had been moved.

"That's very impressive," Draco managed to croak. "You're talented."

A smile of relief flooded Ginny's face. "I'm glad you like it."

"You wrote this yourself?" Draco's face registered disbelief.

Ginny's beaming smile was all the proof he needed. He shook his head in wonder. "Wow."

Ginny's smile changed. It evaporated from being relieved and proud to something more sincere, as she looked at Draco with an expression he couldn't quite read. He was still puzzling when she leaned in and kissed him softly. Draco didn't pull away.

Ginny broke off and said simply, "Play with me," and placed her fingers once more on the keys.

A/N: It's been fun! I hope to write more D/G later.


End file.
